That's Not How This Works
by deburke
Summary: This was a challenge issued by my fanfiction writing friends to write a chapter or story and incorporate the following lines: "That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works.


Greg sat at a table in the officer's club, a bottle of scotch and a glass full of ice in front of him and a fresh cigar clamped between his teeth. Music was playing. Around him, people were talking and laughing. Three days of leave stretched out before him.

Janet walked up to his table, dressed in her snug nurse's uniform, her brunette hair pulled up under her cap. She smiled at him and sat down. Rita came across the room from the other direction. Curvaceous and blonde, she was dressed in a low-cut clingy dress and high heels that accentuated and elongated her shapely legs. She too sat down at his table. Then Mary Margaret walked in from still another direction, dressed in a sun dress. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves. When she sat down, he looked from one to the other. They each smiled back at him.

"We've been talking, Greg, and I think we've come up with a solution that works for everybody," said Mary Margaret looking at Janet then at Rita. The others nodded. "I'll continue to be your "on leave girl" here on Espritos," said Janet.

"I'm going to be transferring closer, so we can see more of each other," said Rita, leaning toward him, offering him a generous view of her cleavage and reaching for his hand. "In fact, Mary Margaret thinks she might have an opening at the hospital at Vella La Cava, isn't that wonderful?"

"We can set up a rotating schedule, like a duty roster once Rita's orders come through," suggested Mary Margaret, her green eyes on him. "I think that will work out just fine, Greg, don't you?"

Greg looked from one to the other. When he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out.

Mary Margaret stood up, put her hands on the table and leaned in very close to him. "Let me help you out, Major. That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works. You better make up your mind," she added, punctuating her words by poking him in the chest with her index finger. Then she backed up and left. Rita left in the direction she'd come.

Only Janet remained at the table. "You don't look so good," she said, putting a hand to his forehead.

Her hand felt cool. When he opened his eyes, Janet was drawing her hand back from his forehead. "Well, look who's awake," she said smiling at him. His blue eyes widened; he looked a alarmed.

"Wha. . .," he started, but his mouth was dry, and his thoughts fuzzy. He realized he was in the hospital.

"You collapsed in the officer's club last night. You've been in and out for about 12 hours. You haven't been taking your malaria medicine have you?"

He shook his head. "Have I . . . Have I had any visitors?" he asked.

"Just your men. Were you expecting someone else?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Did we have plans last night?" he asked, his memory of the previous evening nearly nonexistent.

"No. I didn't know you were on Espritos until I came on duty this morning."

He felt a wave of relief wash over him, though he wasn't altogether sure why. "Hand me my pants, please, would you Janet?" he asked. He wanted to get out of here.

"I don't think that's a good idea, honey. You're gonna be dehydrated and weak. You really should rest."

"If you won't hand them to me, at least don't try to stop me. I gotta get out of here," he said sitting up. He closed his eyes as the room spun. He put a hand to his head.

"Suit yourself," she said, standing aside.

He staggered to the chair where his pants were draped, putting one hand on the wall for balance.

She watched him wondering what form of masculine foolishness this was.

He had to sit in the chair to get his pants on, or he surely would have fallen. He pulled his shirt on and stuffed his feet in his boots, then staggered out the door, shirt unbuttoned and untucked.

She shook her head. Good thing they hadn't had plans; he was clearly in no condition for their usual recreational activities. Besides, she'd been keeping company lately with a doctor who was temporarily assigned to the hospital.

He'd managed to get back to his room and collapse on the bed. Janet was right. He was weak and thirsty.

When he awoke a few hours later, Gutterman was knocking on his door.

"Come in!" Greg shouted.

Gutterman opened the door and looked at it, surprised to find it unlocked. "Janet sent your malaria medicine over and told me to make sure you are drinking plenty of fluids. She said you were acting pretty strange, wondering who had come to see you."

Greg tested out his legs, then walked over to the wash stand and poured himself a glass of water. Taking the medicine from Jim, he swallowed some pills and poured himself another glass of water. "I must have been delirious," he said shaking his head slightly.

"Are you going to tell me what the dream or whatever was about?"

Jim laughed out loud when Greg finished telling him. "You are in serious trouble partner," said Jim.

Greg started to speak when the door opened and the Black Sheep streamed into the room. Casey came and stood by Jim. Anderson plopped onto the bed next to Greg. French and Bragg sat on opposite sides of the bed. TJ swung in on crutches and sat in a chair by the door. All of them were talking at once, asking after Greg's health, those closest clapping him on the shoulder, ruffling his hair.

"Too bad you had to be sick, like this Pappy," said Jerry. "You want us to send the Commander a message to come take care of you?"

"Why isn't Janet over here?" asked Anderson. Jim was making a slicing motion across his throat trying to shut them up, but enjoying himself.

"I can take care of myself," growled Greg. He was considering giving up nurses. "Alright you meatheads. Thanks for the visit. But get out of here and let me get some rest." Greg pushed Anderson off the bed, pulled the covers up and lay back down.

"She's right you know," said Jim, when they'd gone.

"Who's right?" asked Greg.

"The Commander," said Jim.

"She usually is," muttered Greg already drifting.


End file.
